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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473803">Superfan</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissingWinchesters/pseuds/KissingWinchesters'>KissingWinchesters</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:20:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissingWinchesters/pseuds/KissingWinchesters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When a fan of The Surgeon starts a killing spree of their own, Malcolm has to face his demons and visit his father for help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright &amp; Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/merakieros/gifts">merakieros</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here we go again ;p Happy birthday Andy!!!!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What’s going on?”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm sits on the desk next to Dani, looking over to Gil’s office. The shutters are closed, but it’s clear he’s arguing with someone. The walls are practically shaking.<br/>
<br/>
“The commissioner is in there,” Dani replies, her eyebrow raised when she turns to look at him. “I thought you were off work this week?”<br/>
<br/>
“Did you?” Malcolm shrugs, smiling. “Gil called me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh-huh. You know what that’s all about?”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm shakes his head. Gil had been vague on the phone, and sounded unusually stressed.<br/>
<br/>
“Whatever it is, it’s big,” Dani continues, standing when Gil’s office door swings open.<br/>
<br/>
The commissioner spares them both a nod, but doesn’t stop to chat.<br/>
<br/>
“Malcolm, a word.”<br/>
<br/>
“Uhh, sure.” Malcolm gets up off the desk. “Wish me luck.”<br/>
<br/>
Dani snorts and gives him a smirk, but Malcolm can tell she’s on edge.<br/>
<br/>
“Shut the door, kid,” Gil says when Malcolm walks in. “What a morning.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s nine thirty,” Malcolm says, hoping to lighten the mood, but Gil doesn’t look amused.<br/>
<br/>
“Sit down.” Gil slides a file over the desk.<br/>
<br/>
“What is it?”<br/>
<br/>
“Take a look.”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm frowns and spins the file around, lifting the thin card to see the contents. It’s... not what he’d been expecting.<br/>
<br/>
Inside the file are printouts from a website, page after page of photos, poetry, conversations, videos, drawings, and most disturbingly, confessions of love.<br/>
<br/>
All for The Surgeon. Martin Whitly, his father.<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm closes the file, his fingertips just touching the edge, the card digging into his skin.<br/>
<br/>
“Dr Whitly has a fan club. It’s not unusual for serial killers to have followers,” Malcolm says calmly. “They’re usually vulnerable, or have a fascination with things they can’t imagine doing themselves, like murder.”<br/>
<br/>
“All of that’s true, but I wouldn’t have shown you this if it was just about some fan writing letters to Dr Whitly.”<br/>
<br/>
“So, what is it about?”<br/>
<br/>
Gil hesitates, then takes a few pages out of his desk drawer.<br/>
<br/>
“Seems the creator of the site isn’t satisfied with being just a fan.”<br/>
<br/>
Gil holds out the pages and Malcolm takes them, already dreading what he’s going to see. It’s a blog post, a long winded, rambling spiel about how they, whoever they are, have killed someone for the first time in Martin Whitly’s honour. They describe everything, gruesome details spilling onto the page like blood, and the obvious ecstasy they felt committing the act.<br/>
<br/>
The last words on the page make Malcolm’s head spin.<br/>
<br/>
-I love him. I’ll do anything for him.<br/>
We’re made for each other.-<br/>
<br/>
“This could be a hoax,” Malcolm says, looking up. His brain is tripping over itself with thoughts, sorting the jumble of threads pulling him from one theory to another.<br/>
<br/>
“That’s what I thought, at first. I’ve been keeping an eye on this guy for weeks, but now...”<br/>
<br/>
“Wait, you’ve known about this fan site for weeks? Why didn’t you tell me?”<br/>
<br/>
Gil tilts his head, sitting back in his chair and crossing one leg over his knee.<br/>
<br/>
“Because it wasn’t anything, at first. I know it’s not easy for you hearing things about The Surgeon.”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm presses his lips together and looks back down at the pages spread out on the desk.<br/>
<br/>
“I can handle it, Gil.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, we don’t have much of a choice now. The commissioner wants us to investigate, and to track down this fan. He’s got a taste for it now. It’s not going to be his last kill.”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm swallows.<br/>
<br/>
“What were you arguing about?”<br/>
<br/>
“He wants us to work with Dr Whitly. No one knows more about The Surgeon than the man himself. The commissioner thinks we can convince him to help find the killer.”<br/>
<br/>
“You mean he thinks I can?”<br/>
<br/>
Gil doesn’t respond, but Malcolm can tell that’s what he meant. He can also tell how much Gil is hating the idea.<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm doesn’t like it much himself, though he’s sure his reasons are different to Gil’s.<br/>
<br/>
“When do we leave for Claremont?” Malcolm says.<br/>
<br/>
Gil picks up his car keys and sighs.<br/>
<br/>
“Get your coat.”<br/>
<br/>
***<br/>
<br/>
Claremont Psychiatric Hospital is an imposing building in any weather, but somehow, when the air is so cold it makes your breath billow in icy gusts, and the dark clouds gather above it, it becomes even more an oppressive sight.<br/>
<br/>
The walk up to the building is tense, even though Malcolm is trying to mask his nerves at seeing his father again after so many years.<br/>
<br/>
Gil briefed him in the car, explaining all that they know and even more that they as of yet don’t.<br/>
<br/>
The killer calls himself, The Student. They’re assuming it’s a he, but there’s a possibility that a woman is behind it. The IP address of the website was bizarrely untraceable, meaning that whoever is behind it is highly skilled in concealing their tracks. The other people who’d posted things on the site however are all being traced and brought in for questioning.<br/>
<br/>
“You ok, kid?”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm nods, but inside, nerves are starting to build.<br/>
<br/>
They pass through security, through security doors and down long stark corridors. There are hollow, echoing sounds around them. Nothing unusual for a place like that, but it doesn’t ease Malcolm’s anticipation.<br/>
<br/>
At the double doors to Martin’s cell, they’re met by a tall, black man in white scrubs.<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t step over the line or give him anything.”<br/>
<br/>
He swipes a card and punches a code into a pad, and the cell door buzzes and clicks open.<br/>
<br/>
Gil goes first, and for a short time, Malcolm is hidden behind him, unable to see into the cell.<br/>
<br/>
“Detective Arroyo, it’s been a long time.”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm's heart pounds at the sound of his fathers voice. He wants to run, turn back and leave before he sees him, but then Gil steps to one side.<br/>
<br/>
Martin’s smile slackens, his eyes widening slightly, and he steps forward unconsciously, the wire connecting him to the wall creaking with tension.<br/>
<br/>
“My boy...”<br/>
<br/>
Malcolm’s jaw clenches, and he straightens up, determined not to be intimidated by the massive presence of his father.<br/>
<br/>
“Dr Whitly,” Malcolm says, voice flat.<br/>
<br/>
It doesn’t seem to bother Martin at all, his smile growing into something different than the arrogant one he gave to Gil.<br/>
<br/>
“My son. Oh, I’ve missed you.” Martin steps even closer, the belt straining around his waist. “Come on in and say hello to your dad.”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After not getting much information from Martin, and the discovery of The Student's first victim, Malcom decides to go back to visit his father, alone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dr Whitly, this isn’t a social call.” Gil folds his arms, his face like stone.<br/><br/>“Well then, you shouldn’t have brought my son with you, should you?” Martin replies, not taking his eyes off Malcolm for a second. “How long has it been?”<br/><br/>“Almost ten years,” Malcolm says flatly, trying to take in this new version of his father without being obvious about it.<br/><br/>He’s older, his smooth dark hair now a mass of grey and white curls. The last photograph Malcolm had seen of his father was from about five years ago, when a journalist had pretended to be a relative of one of Claremont’s patients. It was grainy, but Martin had been in the background of the photograph published in the press. Malcolm still has the cutting.<br/><br/>“Look at you,” Martin says, smiling widely. “And how exciting, working for the NYPD. I have to admit that I was under the impression you were with the FBI. Not that there’s anything wrong with the NYPD, of course.”<br/><br/>Martin lifts his hands sarcastically, the insult clearly aimed at Gil.<br/><br/>“I’m not here to talk about me.”<br/><br/>“I knew this was a bad idea,” Gil interjects, putting himself between Dr Whitly and Malcolm. “We’re here to discuss a case, but if you’re uncooperative then we will leave.”<br/><br/>Martin nods sagely, walking to his chair and sitting down. <br/><br/>“I’m all ears,” Martin says, looking from Gil back to Malcolm. “I’ll help in any way that I can.”<br/><br/>Malcolm takes the file from Gil and opens it. They’d discussed in the car that Malcolm would be the one to lead the conversation, but now that he’s here, he’s not sure how to go about it. It’s been so long since he’s been in the same room as his father, and all the feelings he’d compressed concerning him are now pushing against very thin barriers.<br/><br/>“Someone, claiming to be a fan of yours, has posted on a website that they’ve killed someone.” Malcolm holds up a piece of paper, turning it in Martin’s direction.<br/><br/>“A fan? Hmm... Malcolm, I can’t see much with you holding it way over there.”<br/><br/>Standing up from his chair, Martin’s guard approaches Malcolm, taking the paper and scanning it. <br/><br/>“Come on, let me see it all. I need facts before I can be any sort of assistance.” Martin holds his hand out. <br/><br/>Malcolm looks and Gil who nods, albeit reluctantly. The guard takes the file and passes it to Martin.<br/><br/>“Thank you, Mr David,” Martin says, taking the stack of papers. “You don’t have a body, I take it?”<br/><br/>“Not yet,” Gil says.<br/><br/>“Why take it seriously then? A lot of people say they’ve done things when they haven’t.” Martin lifts each page after scanning over it, placing it face down when he’s done. <br/><br/>“The commissioner believes the person responsible is genuine. We can’t ignore it, especially given who his obsession is about.”<br/><br/>“Hmm...” Martin nods, then glances at Malcolm. “And what do you believe?”<br/><br/>Malcolm swallows, his throat dry and scratchy. Martin used to do this when he was a boy, ask what he thought about things, never dismissing him like a lot of adults do to children. <br/><br/>“There’s a definite escalation on the website, the... the obsession and delusion becomes more intense, and the way the murder is described reads like a journal entry not a work of fiction.”<br/><br/>Martin smiles.<br/><br/>“I agree.” Martin continues to read. “Rather amorous at times isn’t he?”<br/><br/>“Dr Whitly...” Gil practically growls. <br/><br/>“It’s an important point, detective. Isn’t that right, Malcolm?”<br/><br/>Martin’s eyes dance with mirth.<br/><br/>“Kid?”<br/><br/>“The killer is focused on Dr Whitly, not the victim. From what I’ve read, they’re convinced that there’s a bond between them, and by murdering someone, it’s just bringing them closer together.”<br/><br/>Martin swings his chair around to face them both, one sheet of paper left in his hand.<br/><br/>“So smart. Like father like son.” Martin gazes at Malcolm until Gil clears his throat, loudly. “He sounds like the real deal to me, but without a body...”<br/><br/>“Has anyone ever contacted you, anyone with similar obsessive traits?” Gil asks.<br/><br/>“Not off the top of my head,” Martin replies. “Hm, but it’s not impossible. I do get the odd letter.”<br/><br/>“Congratulations.” Gil says sarcastically, indicating to the file on Martin’s desk, and Mr David stands from his chair taking it from Martin. “For the record, I was against coming here, and as far as I’m concerned I was right. If you think of anything that could be of assistance, Dr Whitly, you know how to contact us. Malcolm, let’s go.”<br/><br/>“Oh, why don’t you stay, my boy?” Martin gets up, the wire pulled tight again as he steps as close to the line as he can. “We have a lot to catch up on.”<br/><br/>Malcolm stands frozen to the spot, wanting to back away, run, but also to cross that line on the floor. To do what? Malcolm doesn’t let himself answer that question.<br/><br/>“There’s nothing to catch up on,” Malcolm says, feeling Gil’s hand on his elbow. <br/><br/>“Wait, please... Malcolm, I can help you. You know I can, just stay a little longer.” Martin’s constraints grind as the metal is pulled tight.<br/><br/>Turning his back, Malcolm leaves, his heart hammering in his chest. It feels like he’s fleeing a tsunami or a hurricane, something terrible and powerful, wanting to consume him. His fathers voice, the one he keeps in his head, is now free and it’s calling out to him. <br/><br/>***<br/><br/>“You shouldn’t have been put in that position. I’m sorry you had to see him again.” <br/><br/>Gil was fuming, driving away from Claremont with nothing to help them with the case.<br/><br/>Malcolm turns to him. He’s used to Gil thinking he’s damaged, that he can’t cope with life’s horrors, especially concerning Martin Whitly, but Malcolm wishes that every now and again someone would believe in him.<br/><br/>“Dr Whitly loves being in control, so I let him. Sure, it was a little difficult seeing him again, but I might have played up the whole frozen routine a bit.”<br/><br/>Malcolm smiles. Gil doesn’t need to know the extent of how Martin made him feel, but Malcolm learned long ago how easily he can mask his true feelings. <br/><br/>“You were playing him? I’m impressed.” <br/><br/>“I wanted to see if he knew anything about this killer, but I don’t think he does. Anything like this rubs his ego, but I don’t think he knows any more than we do.”<br/><br/>Gil sighs. He looks relieved.<br/><br/>“He was right about one thing though. Until we have a body we don’t have much to go on.”<br/><br/>“It’s only a matter of time. This guy is obsessed with the surgeon, so he’s going to want to show off his work.”<br/><br/>Malcolm nods. He watches the road, thoughts niggling under his skin like ants. It bothers him, the way the killer talks about Martin on the fan site. And Martin himself picked up on the fact that there’s a definite sexual motivation with this guy.<br/><br/>He’s not just obsessed with Martin’s murders, but with Martin. He wants him. Admires him. And Malcolm doesn’t like it.<br/><br/>“We need to talk to the other people who posted things on the site. Maybe one of them knows who the killer is?”<br/><br/>Gil nods in agreement, pulling over when they reach the station. <br/><br/>“I need you to start putting a profile together, with the little information you’ve got. At least we’ll have something to start with,” Gil says, getting out of the car.<br/><br/>They head into the station, and Malcolm is already forming a picture of the killer, when Gil’s phone rings.<br/><br/>“JT?” Gil’s brow creases, and he holds out his hand, stopping Malcolm halfway up the stairs. “Where?”<br/><br/>Malcolm waits, but from Gil’s time he can already guess what the call is about.<br/><br/>“Alright, we’re coming to you.”<br/><br/>Gil hangs up the phone.<br/><br/>“What is it?”<br/><br/>“Looks like you’ve got more to work with after all. A body’s been found.”<br/><br/>“Where?” Malcolm turns, heading back down to the street. <br/><br/>“Downtown, in an apartment building.”<br/><br/>Malcolm gets back into the car, dread and apprehension building in his chest. A million different things could be waiting for them, so many possibilities, but one things for sure. If it is this superfan of The Surgeon, Malcolm is going to know immediately.<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>Dani is waiting for them in the lobby. <br/><br/>“Who found the body?” Gil asks, the three of them heading to the elevator.<br/><br/>“Eric Peterson, a cleaner. Apparently the apartment had been sold and he’d been hired to do a deep clean of the place.”<br/><br/>“He found more than just lint,” Gil says, glancing at Malcolm. “You ready for this?”<br/><br/>Malcolm nods.<br/><br/>“Why wouldn’t you be?” Dani looks at him curiously.<br/><br/>“Because the killer is obsessed with Martin Whitly,” Malcolm replies, stepping out of the elevator when it opens on the forth floor.<br/><br/>“Oh... well that kinda makes this make sense.”<br/><br/>They follow Dani into the empty apartment, police milling around, and speaking with who appears to be the cleaner who found the body. He looks pale and nauseous.<br/><br/>“Might be a good idea to take Mr Peterson outside,” Malcolm says to one officer he passes, lifting his eyebrows at the sound of the cleaner throwing up a few moments later.<br/><br/>The body is in the master bedroom, laid out on the bed frame. Malcolm takes it all in, calming his breathing, but there’s a morbid hint of familiarity that he can’t shake.<br/><br/>“What’d you think, kid?”<br/><br/>She’s been cut open like she’s on an operating table. Skin and flesh peeled back to expose organs and bone. Malcolm can see her kidneys have been severed and placed in with her intestines, like some grotesque piece of abstract art.<br/><br/>Blood drips onto the floor below the bed, but a great deal of it is contained in her body. The killer made sure if that.<br/><br/>The precision is eerily methodical.<br/><br/>“There are bruise marks on her neck,” Malcolm says, choosing the opposite side of the bed to Dr Tanaka. <br/><br/>“Made post-mortem, yes, but there’s no petechia, so I wouldn’t say strangulation for cause of death. I won’t know for sure until I examine her more though.”<br/><br/>“The killer left this,” JT says, pointing towards a scalpel placed in the victims hand.<br/><br/>“Seems like a signature to me. It’s almost like he’s continuing the kills, not just emulating them.” Malcolm looks at the blade, wiped clean after use, remembering when his father had told him the importance of looking after his tools.<br/><br/>~“They’re part of me Malcolm. They have to be cared for or they won’t do what I want them to.”~<br/><br/>“Who’s doing what now?” JT has that puzzled and almost mocking look on his face.<br/><br/>“The Surgeon has a fan,” Gil explains, handing the file over to JT. Dani goes over to him to see inside it too.<br/><br/>“The hell? So... all this, is because some guy wants to be like The Surgeon?”<br/><br/>“Yes, and no,” Malcolm replies. “It’s not that simple. They’re trying to impress him by using the same skills and techniques without actually copying. If I didn’t know he was locked in a cell, I’d bet money on this being Dr Whitly.”<br/><br/>Dani takes a page from the file and holds it up.<br/><br/>“When did this start? Why are we just finding out about it now?”<br/><br/>Malcolm doesn’t say anything, turning his head away from his team. He feels somehow responsible, like his fathers actions, or at least the actions of those in his orbit, are reflected on him. He didn’t know about the website, but he still feels a flash of guilt about it anyway.<br/><br/>“He didn’t know either,” Gil says, walking to stand beside Dr Tanaka. “The website was being monitored, but then he posted about killing someone.”<br/><br/>“And he wasn’t bullshitting,” JT adds. <br/><br/>“Can’t we find where he is from his IP address?” Dani closes the file, passing it to Gil.<br/><br/>“This killer is smart,” Malcolm says. “He’s covered his tracks. It’s easy to imagine he’s some computer geek in his bedroom, but I don’t think that’s who he is. I’d say he works in a job requiring a high level of skill in technology.”<br/><br/>“Well, let’s hope he’s messed up here and left us some fingerprints or DNA.” Gil nods to the forensic team to come in to gather evidence. “We need to talk to anyone connected to this website.”<br/><br/>“I think I should go back to Claremont,” Malcolm says, smiling and holding his hands up. “I know, just hear me out.”<br/><br/>“It’s not a good idea.”<br/><br/>“Maybe not, but the commissioner wanted us to use him, so we should use him? He might know more than he was letting on.”<br/><br/>“Hm.” Gil lifts an eyebrow, his fingers smoothing over his beard. He doesn’t look convinced.<br/><br/>“We don’t have a lead, Gil. Anything Dr Whitly can tell us might help. He might open up more to me if I go back and...”<br/><br/>“And what?”<br/><br/>“Talk to him. I don’t know... it’s been ten years, but if they’re really  obsessed with him, this won’t be his last kill. I need to try.”<br/><br/>Gil huffs, but eventually nods.<br/><br/>“Just be careful. And call if you need anything.”<br/><br/>“I will,” Malcolm replies, leaving the team and making his way out of the building, anticipation swirling inside him. <br/><br/>He feels reckless, and foolish, but this killer... The Student, is getting to him, uncovering things that Malcolm has been hiding from, and despite people’s lack of confidence in him, Malcolm is determined to stand up to his demons. <br/><br/>***<br/><br/>The corridors of Claremont seem darker the second time around, and Malcolm feels dwarfed walking behind Mr David who met him at the first door to the cell.<br/><br/>Martin smiles through the glass, waiting for his cell door to open.<br/><br/>There’s a sadness in Malcolm like a hole, the absence of his father for the last ten years has been difficult for him. People look at him, and see the damage Martin did. They don’t see everything that Martin did for him, the warm loving father that he was.<br/><br/>No one would understand why Malcolm still loves him. They see a serial killer, whereas he sees... dad.<br/><br/>“I’m so glad you came back,” Martin say, his hands clenched together, bound by cuffs. “We couldn’t talk at all with detective Arroyo here. Every party needs a pooper though.”<br/><br/>“Dr Whitly...” Malcolm edges forward, hyper aware of the way his hand is shaking at his side. “We have a body. I need you to tell me anything you were keeping from us.”<br/><br/>Martin laughs, his tongue travelling over his bottom lip.<br/><br/>“It’s nice to be needed,” Martin says. <br/><br/>For a second Malcolm thinks he’s going to go to his desk and sit down, but mirroring Malcolm, he edges forward, his bonds stopping him from being able to touch, but it’s near enough. Malcolm's fingers twitch, and he wonders what would happen if he just brushed his hand against Martin’s.<br/><br/>“I promise to help, but first... I want to hear all about you.” Martin laughs again. “I’ve been following your career, of course, but... ahh, my boy, just stay and talk a while.”<br/><br/>Martin is shaking, and Malcolm realises that he’s actually nervous, maybe even scared that Malcolm is going to leave him again. It shouldn’t make Malcolm feel a tingling warmth low in his stomach, but seeing the raw vulnerability he elicits in Martin is pleasing.<br/><br/>Moving a little closer, Malcolm lowers his eyes.<br/><br/>“I’ll stay,” he whispers softly. “Dad.”<br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Malcolm’s second visit with his father brings up some old memories.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Mr David, I think we’ll be fine alone if you wouldn’t mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin moves to sit down, looking over at the guard in the corner of the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He knows the rules,” Martin continues, a smile playing on his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Press the alarm if you need it,” Mr David says to Malcolm before leaving the cell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you could do that,” Malcolm says, feeling an odd sense of relief that he’s solely in his fathers presence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve stacked up quite the number of privileges over the years,” Martin replies, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. It sways slowly from side to side. “Mr David isn’t against being paid off too, which helps.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can see that,” Malcolm says, really taking in the somewhat lavish surroundings. He imagines that compared to some cells in Claremont, Martin’s is the height of luxury.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It really is so good to see you,” Martin says, resting his hands on his stomach. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to stay away, but I understand. You were making a life for yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was my choice not to visit you.” Malcolm sits in the empty guard chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, well, even I can see that it might have caused some problems for you if you had, but that’s all in the past now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm’s eyes drop to Martin’s hands as he laces his fingers together. He finds himself fixated on the roundness of his fathers stomach, and even lower, to the prominent bulge of his crotch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, how did you come to work for my arresting officer, detective Arroyo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm bites the inside of his cheek, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I got fired for punching a cop and Gil offered me a job as a consultant,” he says, surprised at how steady his voice sounds when his body feels like it’s on fire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Punching a cop,” Martin chuckles. “Now that is interesting. You’ll have to tell me that story next time you come to visit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If there’s nothing you can tell me to help with the case then there might not be a next time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t be like that. You are pleased to see me, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm can feel his temperature rise. He forces his eyes up, but instead of looking directly at Martin, he gives his attention to the pile of letters stacked on his desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you find something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, these... I thought we could go through them together. I only ever skim them really, some I don’t bother opening at all, but you never know. Our killer could be in here somewhere.” Martin places his hand on the letters and pats them gently. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm frowns when his father beacons him over to the desk. It’s part of the game, testing how much he can push, and how far Malcolm will go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Glancing at the door, Malcolm steps over the line. No one rushes in, and there’s no sign of Mr David, so Malcolm slowly approaches the desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, tell me about the body,” Martin says, picking up a letter and opening it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm does, going through all the details and keeping his eyes on Martin’s face, looking for any response, any indication that something has caught his attention. But, Martin looks almost unimpressed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Smart, but a little unimaginative, don’t you agree?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He thinks you’re his mentor. It makes sense that he’s trying to carry on what you started.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm scans one of the letters. It’s disturbing, but doesn’t sound like this killers style. He places it above the main stack and opens up another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one can do what I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin turns his chair a little so that his knee knocks against Malcolm’s leg. Malcolm keeps reading, feeling his cheeks flush from being observed, but also because of the content of the letter in his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The writer talks about how they want Martin to murder them, how it would be like making love, and that they would let Martin use them however he wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’ve got one of the frisky ones have you?” Martin reaches out, his fingertips brushing Malcolm’s as he plucks the page out of his grasp. “You’d be surprised how many I get.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you...” Malcolm stops himself, breathing out through his nose in frustration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I what? Reply?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm nods despite his mind protesting. He shouldn’t care what Martin does, or with who. He shouldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no... they’re a small amusement, but I have better things to occupy my mind, trust me.” Martin smiles, putting the letter away. “This ones not him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pile of ‘No’s’ gets bigger, and the ‘maybe’ pile gets checked again before eventually going the same way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These are all of the letters?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think so. There might be some in storage, but I’m sure this is all of them. Why don’t you come back tomorrow after I’ve gotten Mr David to have a good rummage in my things. They keep anything that I’m not allowed in here in a storage facility across town.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next to him, Martin stands. They’re so close now, hip to hip, and the heat from his father is overwhelming. It makes Malcolm want to lean into him. And his smell, like a memory, but so clearly familiar that Malcolm feels hollow from the time they’ve spent apart. He’s missed him... so very much, but it was for the best. Malcolm knew he had to cut his father out of his life completely if he was going to have any chance to avoid what was clawing his heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could come back anyway. Just to see me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Malcolm says, both meaning it and not. “I shouldn’t have come here at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin lifts his hand, stroking the back of Malcolm’s head, his hair smooth against his skin. It travels down to his neck, his hand so big it wraps almost the whole way around... and that thought alone sends a thrill down Malcolm’s spine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to be embarrassed. About what happened back then...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please, don’t.” Malcolm cuts Martin off before he can say anything else. “Nothing happened. I didn’t do anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin’s nose brushes against the shell of Malcolm’s ear, his breath caressing the curve of his jaw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was never angry with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm swallows, finding the strength to step away, knocking over a pile of letters as he does. They fall to the floor, scattering at Martin’s feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have to go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t, not yet.” Martin’s voice has a plea in it, and it makes Malcolm’s head spin how it can change from being seductive one minute and desperate the next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Walking over the line, Malcolm schools his face into a mask, emotionless and unaffected, even though he feels the exact opposite on the inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you think of anything that can help the investigation, have the hospital call. Goodbye, Dr Whitly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm pushes the call button and a few moments later the cell door opens. Malcolm nods to Mr David, and gets out of Claremont as fast as his legs will carry him.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>10 years earlier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm pulls down his sweater by the hem, giving his nervous hand something to do other than shaking uncontrollably. He’s always strangely enjoyed visiting his father, like walking into a time capsule where he’s still just a boy and his dad is still just his dad. Not a prisoner. Not a murderer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s moving to a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane soon, a place called Claremont, but Malcolm doubts he’ll ever see the inside of the place. He’s not sure how visiting his serial killer father would look to his classmates when he starts school.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Head bowed, Malcolm remembers that it’s the reason he’s come to visit, and he can feel the shadow of anxiety follow him into the cell. It feels like he’s about to sever an artery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm,” Martin says, in that unique way of his. A way that makes Malcolm feel like the most important person in the world. No one else has ever said Malcolm’s name like his dad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I’m late,” Malcolm replies. The guard who brought him in goes over to talk to someone, leaving them pretty much alone. They’re used to Malcolm coming here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re here now, that's all that matters. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Martin chuckles, smiling brightly at his son. There’s a bed in one corner of the cell, small and uncomfortable looking, and Martin gets up from sitting on it to come closer to Malcolm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to hate me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Martin’s face is soft with concern, and it’s somehow worse than if he was angry. “I could never do that. Never. Do you hear me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I put you in here. You can’t not be mad about that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never been angry with you about that, my boy. Where’s all this coming from? Tell me what’s wrong.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm can’t make eye contact with his dad, doesn’t want to see the love in them change to something dark. His stomach twists painfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I got into Harvard...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm, that’s...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, please, that’s not all.” Malcolm takes a deep breath. “I’m joining the FBI to be a criminal profiler... and that’s why I can’t see you anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes all his strength to look up, but when he does, Martin is smiling at him, one hand through the bars.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm does, unable to resist, and though it’s not a real hug, he’ll take all the contact he can. The guards don’t stop them, and Malcolm hides his face against Martin’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My smart boy. Oh, I’m so proud of you. Harvard, and the FBI, you’re going to knock them dead. So to speak.” Martin laughs beside Malcolm’s ear. “You’ll be busy, impressing everyone, but you’ll still be able to see me. I’m not going far.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dad...” But, he can’t tell his dad the final thing. The last, sharpest nail in the coffin. It might not be official yet, but the change of name deeds feel solid, like another betrayal in his bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he’s going to get anywhere in his career, the name Whitly has to stay in this cell, along with his father. He doesn’t understand yet, but Malcolm means it when he says he can’t see Martin again. He has to leave him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need to go. I’m sorry...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm pulls away. He’s scared, but at the same time he’s got nothing left to lose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slipping his hand through the bars, Malcolm wraps it around the back of his dads neck, and kisses him. It’s not innocent, and it can’t be brushed off as nothing. Because it is something. Malcolm tastes, his lips parting over Martin’s bottom lip, sucking slightly before it’s over. The sin of it will be something Malcolm will never forget the flavour of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Dr Whitly,” Malcolm says, turning without another glance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm? Malcolm, come back here... Malcolm?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malcolm didn’t go back, and it was the last time that he saw his father for the next decade.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>After calling Gil, Malcolm made an excuse about needing to pick something up from his apartment before rejoining the team.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In truth, Malcolm just needed to find something in his collection of meds to slow his heart rate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calm down. Calm down. Calm...” Malcolm inhales, his breath shaky in his lungs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just needs a little time to process, then he’ll be fine. Malcolm laughs at his own stupidity. Fine is the last thing that he’ll ever be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The slam of his apartment door is enough to rattle the picture frames on the walls. Malcolm’s mother’s heels are so loud that he wouldn’t be surprised to find marks on them later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello, mother. Do come in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please, tell me it isn’t true.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica is like a force of nature, a hurricane of a woman. She’s never been what people might call maternal, but she has been there in every aspect of Malcolm’s life, whether he wanted it or not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t tell you anything if I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Malcolm rubs his temple, wishing he’d been able to take something before she’d arrived.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That you’re working on a murder case and that you’re consulting Martin Whitly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every word is aimed for the kill, daggers containing her rage. Malcolm has felt them before, but not as severe as this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, it’s true, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jessica closes her eyes, disgust, fear, and something else that Malcolm doesn’t recognise settling on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not like he can lie, so he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Malcolm learns something about his mother and realises that the things he keeps hidden can't stay hidden forever.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How did you find out?” <br/><br/>“Like that’s the issue here. Malcolm, this is insane!”<br/><br/>Jessica slams her purse down on the island countertop and circles around it, helping herself to some whiskey.<br/><br/>“It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t want to see him, but...”<br/><br/>The glass hits the counter with as much force as the bag.<br/><br/>“You’ve already been to see him? This can’t be happening.”<br/><br/>“I can handle it, mother,” Malcolm says, sitting down and checking his phone for any missed calls from Gil, but the screen is empty. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t have anything to bring to the case, so it’ll be the last time I see him.”<br/><br/>Jessica lifts one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. She sighs, filling her glass again, the rage ebbed for now.<br/><br/>“I just don’t want him drawing you into his sick games. Your father is a charming man, charismatic, handsome...”<br/><br/>“Is there a point?”<br/><br/>“Yes. He uses everything he has to twist and manipulate. He’d do that to you, and I couldn’t bear it.”<br/><br/>Malcolm knows she means well, and that what she’s saying isn’t untrue, but she’s never understood the bond that he shares with Martin. They might have been apart for years, but it’s still there.<br/><br/>“It doesn’t matter now anyway. He didn’t help.”<br/><br/>“This kind of thing should be illegal. Who in their right mind would expect Martin to do something that didn’t serve his own agenda?”<br/><br/>Malcolm sighs, wishing for once his mother would see things in a different way. Guilt tugs at him, she was married to a serial killer after all, but it would be nice if she had a little faith in her son for a change.<br/><br/>“Malcolm, I just worry about you,” Jessica says, reading his mind maybe.<br/><br/>“It’s my job,” Malcolm replies.<br/><br/>“Couldn’t you find another job? A nice one that, oh I don’t know, would let you sleep at night? And maybe a nice girl too?”<br/><br/>Jessica smiles and pulls her bag towards her, taking out her phone.<br/><br/>“I met someone at the Brannigan’s annual bore of a fundraiser the other night, and I have a feeling she’d be just perfect for you.”<br/><br/>Malcolm rolls his eyes and stands to leave.<br/><br/>“I don’t need setting up, and I really have to go.”<br/><br/>“Think about it, at least,” Jessica continues. “I thought we could have lunch?”<br/><br/>“Another day, yeah, of course.” Malcolm holds out his hand for her to go ahead of him to the door. She looks a little irritated, but picks up her bag and heads for the stairs.<br/><br/>“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll go then. Just promise me you won’t see your father again. And think about what I said about Aurelia, she really was a sweetheart.”<br/><br/>“Goodbye, mother.”<br/><br/>Malcolm waves and heads in the opposite direction, relieved to be away from Jessica’s interference. He needs to focus on catching this killer, before he can kill again. He can’t give his mother, or his dad, any more of his time or energy.<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>“Malcolm, I’ve been trying to call you.”<br/><br/>“I guess I had no signal.” Malcolm holds up his phone to Gil. “No missed calls, sorry.”<br/><br/>“You’re here now. How did it go at Claremont?”<br/><br/>Gil leads Malcolm into his office, leaving the door open. Malcolm suspects they won’t be staying there for long.<br/><br/>“He had a huge pile of letters from people. Some were, uh, interesting to say the least. But, he’s not the first murderer to receive letters from people admiring them, and he won’t be the last.”<br/><br/>“No, I suppose not. Sometimes I just really don’t get people.” Gil sits on the edge of his desk. “You didn’t see anything in those letters that made you feel like it was our guy?”<br/><br/>Malcolm shakes his head.<br/><br/>“No,” Malcolm replies. “Did Edrissa come back to you with a cause of death?”<br/><br/>“Yeah, there was enough (drug?) in her system to kill her, but it was strangulation that did it.”<br/><br/>Malcolm bites his lip, trying to grab onto the pieces he can to build a profile, but without something more solid, everything he has just comes back to Martin. Whoever this person is, they’ve done their research on the surgeon.<br/><br/>It makes Malcolm wonder how close they’ve actually gotten to his father. <br/><br/>“So, what about the other members of the site?”<br/><br/>“All but one have been brought in and let go without charge. They all had alibis for the time of death and claim to have no idea who set up the site. Their computers are being checked, but they were all pretty scared about it all.”<br/><br/>“And the last one?”<br/><br/>“I was about to go and see him.” Gil stands and pats the back of Malcolm’s shoulder as they leave his office. “I’m relieved it went smoothly with Dr Whitly, and that we don’t have to spend a second longer in his company.”<br/><br/>Malcolm smiles uncomfortably. <br/><br/>“Hey, Bright, there’s a call for you.” JT points to a telephone receiver on his desk. “It’s from...”<br/><br/>“Take a message,” Gil says, cutting in before Malcolm can open his mouth. <br/><br/>Malcolm shrugs and gives JT an apologetic look before catching up with Gil. <br/><br/>“What do you know about him?” Malcolm asks.<br/><br/>“His name’s Peter Webber, works in a library, takes yoga and pilates, and has a pretty huge obsession with true crime.”<br/><br/>“Wow,” Malcolm says, stopping when they reach the interview room. “Yoga AND pilates?”<br/><br/>Gil snorts and walks into the room.<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>“I haven’t done anything. I-I don’t know anything.”<br/><br/>Peter Webber is pale and sweating, his leg bouncing so much that the metal chair he’s sitting on is scratching the floor every time it moves.<br/><br/>“That’s not true though is it, Peter? You have done something.” Gil slams a piece of paper down on the desk, a printout of a group chat hosted on the Whitly fan site. “Your username is ‘spankmesurgeon78’, right?”<br/><br/>Malcolm watches Peter swallow uncomfortably.<br/><br/>“It’s not illegal. I simply like to discuss true crime with other interested people, that’s all. It’s just talking.”<br/><br/>Malcolm snorts, turning the paper around so he can read it.<br/><br/>“‘I’d give anything for Martin to be free again. I’ve been watching recordings of surgery to try to see more accurately how he killed his victims, but to have him show me himself, to watch him work and take a life, to help him... that would be ecstasy.’” Malcolm lifts his eyes slowly, not surprised to see Peter looking even paler. “That sounds like more than just an interest in true crime to me.”<br/><br/>“It’s fantasy,” Peter spits, glaring at Malcolm. “You wouldn’t understand. If you knew him, really knew him, you’d see.”<br/><br/>Gil glances at Malcolm, but Malcolm doesn’t look away from Peter. He can feel bile in the back of his throat, a bitterness over the way this man is talking about his father. It makes him angry, irrationally maybe, but it also makes him feel like laughing in his face. Because Peter has no idea who Martin Whitly is.<br/><br/>“I already told that other cop, I was working when you say that woman was killed. Why am I still here?”<br/><br/>“Because whoever killed this victim is the creator of the website you seemed to spend a lot of time using. You even talk extensively with... SurgeonsStudent, that’s his username. You talked to him more than anyone else on the site.”<br/><br/>“So what? Doesn’t mean I know who he is, or anything about what he’s done.” Peter licks his lips, a sheen of saliva clinging to them. It makes Malcolm’s stomach turn.<br/><br/>“See, Peter, I just don’t believe you. Maybe you do have an alibi, but that doesn’t mean you’re not aiding the killer. We will be checking, by the way. Your alibi. Thoroughly.”<br/><br/>“Do what you like,” Peter replies shakily, but stubborn too. <br/><br/>Malcolm can tell that being forceful isn’t going to work on Peter. He’s closing up on them, and if he does have any information he won’t be willing to give it up easily if they carry on how they are.<br/><br/>“Did SurgeonsStudent ever confide in you about his plans? From what I’ve read, he seems to have a lot of trust in you.”<br/><br/>His pout still firmly in place, Peter shrugs.<br/><br/>“We’re a community. We all get it... well, not all of them did.”<br/><br/>“Who didn’t get it?” Malcolm sees Gil look at him, probably wondering where he’s going with this, but Malcolm keeps his attention on Peter.<br/><br/>“Some of the other users. They were groupies, they didn’t have a true passion for Martin.”<br/><br/>“That must have annoyed you? Made you angry? Did it make SurgeonStudent angry too?”<br/><br/>Peter sniffs, visibly relaxing slightly in his chair.<br/><br/>“Yeah it did. But I think it made him want more. He wanted to meet Martin in person.” Peter scoffs. “I told him I’d tried to apply to visit him once and was denied, so he wasn’t going to have any luck.”<br/><br/>“And what did he say to that?” Malcolm keeps his face neutral. The thought of these people being in the same room as his father...<br/><br/>“He just said he had a way to do it. I didn’t believe him, but maybe he did?” Peter’s eyes drift, like he’s imagining that very scenario for himself.<br/><br/>Gil clears his throat.<br/><br/>“Have we met before,” Peter says suddenly, eyes focusing again. “You seem familiar.”<br/><br/>Malcolm frowns.<br/><br/>“No, we’ve never met.”<br/><br/>“Hm, maybe you’re right.”<br/><br/>Malcolm turns to Gil who looks as confused as he feels, but Peter doesn’t seem to want to say anything else, his eyes drifting off again in thought.<br/><br/>“Fascinating as this all is, I’d advise you get a good lawyer.”<br/><br/>“I told the other cop, I don’t need one,” Peter says, sounding bored.<br/><br/>“Even so, we’re not done with you yet, Mr Webber, and you’re going to need one. For now, you’re free to go.”<br/><br/>Gil stands, and Malcolm follows, giving Peter a last look before leaving the room. At Gil’s request, an officer goes in to escort Peter out of the building.<br/><br/>“I hadn’t finished asking him about the site,” Malcolm says, confused why Gil made the interview so brief.<br/><br/>“We need to get more on him,” Gil says, heading over to where JT and Dani are waiting for them. “Check out that alibi again, it doesn’t sit right with me. For all we know he could be using two usernames to throw us off, make us think he was talking to someone when it was just himself.”<br/><br/>Malcolm frowns. The profile he’s building might be small, but if this killer is continuing Martin’s work, then they’d need to have a stronger nerve than Peter Webber. <br/><br/>He’s about to say as much, when JT waggles the phone receiver in his direction.<br/><br/>“He won’t talk to anyone but you, apparently.”<br/><br/>“Who is it?” Gil asks, but Malcolm already knows who it is, his heartbeat kicking up a notch into rapid.<br/><br/>“His dad,” JT answers, absolutely holding back an eye roll. He’s at least trying to control his distain, but not doing a very good job of it.<br/><br/>Malcolm takes the phone, turning his back and walking to the end of the desk for a modicum of privacy.<br/><br/>“You can’t call me at work,” Malcolm says, lowering his voice.<br/><br/>“Well, not when they try to put me on hold. I don’t have much phone time as it is. You should give me your private number so I can reach you.”<br/><br/>“Dr Whitly...”<br/><br/>“Oh, stop with all the Dr Whitly nonsense, Malcolm. I’m still dad to you.”<br/><br/>Malcolm breathes out through his nose. <br/><br/>“What do you want?”<br/><br/>“Ah, now there’s a question.” Martin laughs, low, and Malcolm clenches his teeth together. “Actually, I called to tell you that Mr David found some more letters and I think they’d be of interest to you.”<br/><br/>“He found more letters?”<br/><br/>“Uh-huh.”<br/><br/>“Conveniently after I left?”<br/><br/>“No, I did say Mr David would look through my things in storage, remember? Anyway, you could always come back and see for yourself?”<br/><br/>“Dr...” Malcolm sighs again, feeling watchful eyes at his back. “I’m a little busy right now. I’ll have someone come collect them.”<br/><br/>“Malcolm, stop being stubborn. I know you were glad to see me. I want to help you. Oh, and there’s another thing. I want to report a theft.”<br/><br/>“A theft? Of what?”<br/><br/>“One of my cardigans. I have three, all the same, except one has a small blood stain in the sleeve. Nothing sinister, just from where I cut my hand, on a sharp pencil would you believe it.” <br/><br/>Martin laughs again, and Malcolm closes his eye, backing in the sound of it.<br/><br/>“That particular one was in the laundry, but it’s magically disappeared. Who’d want to take it? Could be my super fan?”<br/><br/>Malcolm opens his eyes and frowns.<br/><br/>“Someone with access to Claremont.” It comes out as a statement rather than a question. <br/><br/>“I’d say so,” Martin says, pride in his words. “You always were so clever.”<br/><br/>Pride, Malcolm thinks. One of the deadly sins. But, he can’t help but feel it hearing his father say things like that.<br/><br/>“Are you alone?” Martin asks, in a hushed tone. Unnecessary considering where he is.<br/><br/>“No... you know I’m not.”<br/><br/>“Hm. Maybe it’s just talking to you over the phone that makes it feel so... intimate?”<br/><br/>Malcolm can’t reply, he doesn’t trust what he’s say to that, but his hand clenches around the receiver, heat pooling between his legs.<br/><br/>“There are six letters here, and I’ve asked Mr David to have a mosey through the cctv when my laundry was apparently raided. Am I tempting you yet?”<br/><br/>“Don’t...” Malcolm swallows, turning his head, relieved that the others are talking among themselves. “I’ll come and take a look.”<br/><br/>Malcolm hears a clap, like his father smacked his thigh with his hand.<br/><br/>“Wonderful, I’ll look forward to seeing you soon.”<br/><br/>Malcolm removes the telephone from his ear, slowly putting it back on the desk.<br/><br/>“You ok?” Dani nudges him, and Malcolm turns to face them again.<br/><br/>“Uh, yeah... there might be something.”<br/><br/>“Something?” Gil folds his arms and frowns. “What’s changed in a few hours?”<br/><br/>“Some letters that might be from the killer, and he thinks somethings been stolen from him.”<br/><br/>Gil scoffs. “Still an attention seeker then? He’s really enjoying this, isn’t he?”<br/><br/>Malcolm shrugs, putting on a convincing smile.<br/><br/>“He can believe what he wants, but if these letters have anything to tell us about who The Student is, we can’t ignore it.”<br/><br/>“Fine, but take Webber’s statement with you to compare the handwriting and if they sound similar. And take Dani with you.”<br/><br/>“Really?”<br/><br/>“Really?”<br/><br/>Dani and Malcolm look at each other.<br/><br/>“Not that I don’t want to visit Dr Whitly,” Dani says, sarcastically.<br/><br/>“Fine,” Gil sighs. “You go, Dani you can check on Webber’s alibi.”<br/><br/>Malcolm nods, relieved, and Dani gets her jacket and takes off before Gil has a chance to change his mind.<br/><br/>“Kid? Don’t let him get to you, ok? Give me a call if he does have anything of use.”<br/><br/>“Yeah, I will,” Malcolm replies. He smiles again. “Really, I’m fine.”<br/><br/>“Ok, well let me know. JT, I need you to follow up on Webber’s internet history. Get on to them in IT and see if you can speed it up a little.”<br/><br/>“Will do. Good luck in the mad house.”<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>Mr David meets Malcolm at the first door. He’s not really a conversationalist, but he’s pleasant enough, and Malcolm is glad that Martin doesn’t have someone with an aggressive nature guarding him.<br/><br/>Martin had told Malcolm about how Mr David was fond of money in exchange for more privileges, which wouldn’t have bothered Malcolm at all if it had ended there. <br/><br/>“I know my mother is paying you for information. How long has it been going on?”<br/><br/>Mr David pauses, looking back over his shoulder.<br/><br/>“Since I replaced his first guard.”<br/><br/>“You’ve got a pretty good deal. Both of my parents funding you, and getting a salary from your job here.” Malcolm shrugs. “You can keep taking their money, but from now on you’re going to lie to my mother, especially about my visits here.”<br/><br/>“Ok,” Mr David says, nodding and turning his head back to the second door.<br/><br/>He’s not a stupid man, and knows that Malcolm could have him fired very quickly if his superiors learned of his back handers. <br/><br/>The door to Martin’s cell opens and Mr David let’s Malcolm pass by him, closing the door again and disappearing from view.<br/><br/>“My boy, it’s so good to see you again. Three in one day, what a treat.”<br/><br/>Martin is waiting for him, as close to the line as he can get. He rubs his hands together with unashamed glee.<br/><br/>“I’ve got everything waiting for you. Step into my parlour,” he says, chuckling. “Have a seat.”<br/><br/>Malcolm watches Martin pull out his chair, offering it to him.<br/><br/>“Are these the letters?” Malcolm asks, taking a seat and opening one. He’s trying not to show it, but having Martin standing so close is not helping with his concentration. “Did you know he was serious?”<br/><br/>“About killing? Hm...” Martin puts one hand on the back of the chair, leaning down to look over Malcolm’s shoulder. “No more than the others who write. This one is rather desperate to impress.”<br/><br/>Malcolm scans the letter, a first gushing introduction, praising the surgeon and all but proclaiming his love to him.<br/><br/>“I see what you mean.”<br/><br/>Malcolm reads on, surprised at the tone of the writer. He talks like he knows Martin, like somehow it would be like Martin were reading a letter from an old friend. The blatant attempt at supposed familiarity makes Malcolm feel... something he better not admit.<br/><br/>“This one might be useful,” Martin says, his mouth so close to Malcolm’s ear that he can feel his breath tickle his skin. “Where he says that he’ll construct a new world for us, so we can be together.”<br/><br/>“He’s planning on you being free for that?” Malcolm looks up at Martin’s, his eyes involuntarily dropping to his lips.<br/><br/>“Maybe it was then? Now?” Martin smiles, putting his finger down on the page. “He mentions you in this one.”<br/><br/>Malcolm frowns. “What?”<br/><br/>Finishing the letter, Malcolm's desire to hide his jealousy crumbles. <br/><br/>(Italics- “If I was your son I’d make you so proud. I’m sure if we were to meet you would see me as one, not connected by blood but by something deeper, something no one could understand but us.”<br/><br/>“Doesn’t mention you by name, of course, but you’d better watch your back.” Martin’s fingertips brush the back of Malcolm’s neck. “I’m only joking... he lost my interest when he wrote that.”<br/><br/>“He did?” Malcolm swallows. He shifts on the chair, his pants feeling tighter than they were when he sat down.<br/><br/>“Yes... there’s no one who could replace you.”<br/><br/>Malcolm hears Martin inhale, like the smell of him is the most infatuating scent. <br/><br/>“Um... does he talk about the site? Or anything that can tell us who he is?”<br/><br/>Leaning over him again, Malcolm gets his own lungful of his fathers scent. It must be the laundry detergent they use for his scrubs and the cardigan he’s taken to wearing. Even after so long Malcolm can read his fathers strategies. If he looks soft then people are less afraid of him, even when they know what he’s done.<br/><br/>Malcolm wonders if that’s how his father got his victims to trust him.<br/><br/>“He mentions here that he’s not seen at work, and that if he wanted to he could bring society to its knees. I don’t think he’s bluffing, so maybe he works somewhere high powered?”<br/><br/>Malcolm hums and nods. There’s more of a picture building in his mind of this man, and despite his bitterness towards his obsession with Martin, Malcolm is certain that the writer of the letters is their man.<br/><br/>“Mr David kindly had these printed,” Martin keeps getting closer, crowding up against Malcolm until he’s all but surrounded by him. “He’s wearing a hat and doesn’t look towards any cameras, but that’s him. See look he’s stealing out of the laundry cart.”<br/><br/>Sure enough, Malcolm scans the stills, seeing how the man captured in them takes the cream cardigan from the basket and holds it close, pushing his whole face into the fabric.<br/><br/>“Is he..?”<br/><br/>“Yes he is,” Martin replies, knowing exactly what Malcolm meant.<br/><br/>Turning his head, Malcolm bites his lip. Martin is so close, and he can’t help it... he rests his face against Martin’s sleeve, breathing in. Jealousy burns inside him, the deep aversion to anyone getting close to his father... anyone but him.<br/><br/>“I should go...”<br/><br/>Martin puts a hand around the back of Malcolm’s neck, stroking and squeezing gently.<br/><br/>“No, you shouldn’t.” Martin puts his fingers under Malcolm’s chin, making him look up. “You don’t have to be afraid.”<br/><br/>Malcolm opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Not afraid? He’s terrified. How can he not be?<br/><br/>“Malcolm, open your eyes.”<br/><br/>Not even realising he’d closed them, Malcolm looks up at his father again. <br/><br/>It feels just like it did ten years ago. The thing inside him that’s wired wrong, that wants his dad in a way that isn’t normal, that makes him want to surrender to anything Martin would do to him... he can’t keep it quiet anymore. It’s too strong.<br/><br/>“Why am I like this?” Malcolm puts his fingers around Martin’s wrists, now cradling his face. “I thought if I didn’t see you it’d stop... that I wouldn’t...”<br/><br/>“Malcolm, we aren’t like other people. You and me...”<br/><br/>“There is no you and me,” Malcom says, frustration making him angry. He pulls out of his fathers grip and stands, sending the chair rolling across the floor towards Martin’s bed. Malcolm’s eyes linger on it, his thoughts straying to dark places.<br/><br/>Circling around him, Martin moves like he’s stalking prey. And Malcolm guesses that’s an accurate description. <br/><br/>Martin’s eyes are intense, seductive, and Malcolm has no fight left. When Martin stands in front of him, Malcolm knows it’s over. He can’t deny himself anymore.<br/><br/>He leans forward, their eyes still locked on each other’s. Martin touches his face, exhaling with the pleasure of it, and Malcolm’s heart races in his chest.<br/><br/>In his dreams he still remembers the kiss, and when he’s awake he imagines he can still feel it. The soft press of Martin’s lips, and the way his beard rubbed his skin like scratching the most satisfying itch. Malcolm hadn’t touched himself for weeks before he’d given in, coming for the first time with his fathers name on his lips. <br/><br/>“Daddy...” Malcolm says it like he had back then, a desperate whisper, only this time he’s not alone. He has everything he wants stood right in front of him.<br/><br/>Martin tilts Malcolm’s chin up, their lips just brushing...<br/><br/>Malcolm’s heart skips a beat when he hears the sound of the outer door to Martin’s cell opening. Panicking, Malcolm pushes away from Martin, rushing over the painted line just before the second door opens and Gil walks into the cell.<br/><br/>He must look guilty? He has to be showing every raw edged emotion on his face? Gil is bound to know what he just almost witnessed.<br/><br/>“Bright, I need to talk to you. Come with me.”<br/><br/>“What’s wrong?” Malcolm asks, smoothing back his hair with one hand.<br/><br/>“You can tell him in front of me,” Martin says, the irritation in his voice evident. “You did interrupt us after all.”<br/><br/>Malcolm’s eyes widen, fear that Martin would tell Gil everything just to spite him flashing through his mind. Martin has always disliked Gil, and the fact that the man stayed around after Martin was incarcerated must be like salt in a wound.<br/><br/>But Martin just points to the letters and photographs spread out on his desk.<br/><br/>“These could be essential evidence.”<br/><br/>“Kid, come on.” Gil ignores Martin, doesn’t even look in his direction, and he lifts his eyebrows to reinforce his demand.<br/><br/>Malcolm has to go with him, however hard it is to leave. <br/><br/>Without looking at his father, Malcolm goes after Gil.<br/><br/>“What, is that it? Are you coming back?”<br/><br/>Martin walks to the centre of the room so he can see through the door, watching all the time even if he can’t hear what’s going on.<br/><br/>“He was right about the letters, and the cctv shows a potential suspect,” Malcolm says, frowning as Gil paces between the secure doors. “What’s going on?”<br/><br/>Disturbingly, Malcolm feels intensely relieved that Gil hadn’t seen anything when he’d arrived. <br/><br/>“He’s killed again. Posted about it on the site.” Gil puts his hands in his pockets and sighs. “This time he’s told us where to find her.”<br/><br/>“That’s not all though, is it?”<br/><br/>“No, that’s not it,” Gil replies. “The commissioner has ordered that we take Dr Whitly to the crime scene.”<br/><br/>“What? That’s... why?”<br/><br/>Gil shrugs, obviously pissed.<br/><br/>“Your guess is good as mine. You can come with me, instead of riding in a patrol car with him.”<br/><br/>“We’re taking him now?”<br/><br/>Gil nods, and they both turn to look through the door of the cell.<br/><br/>Martin Whitly grins.<br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things don’t go to plan at the crime scene.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Gil’s hands on the steering wheel are tight. Malcolm avoids looking at him, choosing instead to keep his eyes on the road. He can feel the tension coming off JT in the backseat. He hadn’t been happy when Gil had insisted that he be the one to sit next to Martin on the way to the crime scene, scowling and muttering under his breath. If people thought JT got annoyed by Malcolm constantly talking, then they hadn’t met his father. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A rehabilitation programme? How interesting. Nothing to do with the commissioner running for mayor at the end of the month of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm hears Martin laugh, the cuffs around his wrists clinking on his lap.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t help but agree with his fathers observation. It’s blatantly obvious that Harold Carter is using this farce to gain supporters. Using the police department as guinea pigs to show everyone how well his people are dealing with the criminals in his jurisdiction. As far as Malcolm is aware, there’s no such programme being tested at Claremont, or any other facility.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Still, it’s marvellous to be out in the world again, and in such good company. Where are we going, by the way?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When no one responds, Malcolm breathes out through his nose and turns in his seat, just enough to be able to see his father.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The body was found in some woodland on the property belonging to a lawyer called Elliot Hart. Did you know him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin’s lips pull downwards. “Hm, I don’t think we ever met, but I’ve heard of him. He worked in medical malpractice if I remember right.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But you never met?” Malcolm is surprised, hoping that it’d be a deliberate connection made by the killer. If Martin never met the man, then why dump a body on his property?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m an excellent surgeon,” Martin smiles. “No lawsuits to speak of.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Apart from the obvious,” JT says, unimpressed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Quite right,” Martin says, winking at Malcolm before he turns back around.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm bites his tongue to stop himself from laughing. Martin is so magnetic when he’s like this. Sarcastic and condescending, but sharp and witty too. As a child Malcolm always heard people describe his father as charming, and he didn’t really understand properly then, but he’s very aware of it now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s perhaps the most terrifying thing about him, the way he can put you at ease and make you feel like the centre of the universe. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm zones out, his mind drifting to what he almost did in Martin’s cell, the way his father had touched him, and what he’d called Martin right before they’d nearly kissed. It was a word that he’d used many times in his dreams. In the rare moments of sleep, Malcolm used it without shame or embarrassment, and let Martin do things to him that would make even the most debauched person blush.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Daddy</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re here,” Gil says, breaking Malcolm out of his thoughts. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How exciting,” Martin says, leaning forward to try to see better out the front of the car. JT pushes him back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s get one thing straight.” Gil undoes his seatbelt and turns to face Martin. “None of us want you here, and if you put a foot wrong I’ll have you back in Claremont faster than I did the first time. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm glances at Martin under his eyelashes, wanting to see his fathers reaction. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin nods, on the surface seeming to comply completely, but his eyes tell a different story. There’s a smugness in them, and amusement, and Malcolm can almost hear that low laughter that makes goosebumps spread over his skin. Martin isn’t impressed by Gil’s bravado, but then again, he never has been.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They exit the car, and JT keeps a firm hand on Martin’s elbow, leading him over damp grass and mossy ground like a dog. Malcolm and Gil fall into step behind them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin’s still in his prison scrubs, but he has a camel coloured utility jacket on instead of the usual cardigan.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You ok, kid?” Gil lowers his voice to speak just to Malcolm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Watching his father, Malcolm doesn’t know if Gil notices Martin’s head tilt slightly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll be better once we’ve caught this guy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I meant...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I know what you meant. It’s fine. I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm catches Martin’s lips curl into a smile before his face is hidden from him again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The edge of the woodland is cordoned off with police tape, and a few officers are stood around the perimeter. Malcolm can see cops through the trees, and the dark shape of a woman’s body on the ground. Dr Tanaka hasn’t arrived at the scene yet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no this is all wrong,” Martin says. He walks quicker only to be held back by JT. “Do you mind not doing that? It pinches.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">JT shrugs and keeps his hand on Martin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you mean all wrong?” Gil asks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t just leave bodies around willy nilly. He hasn’t even tried to cover his tracks.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm nods, thinking about the first victim laid out in the apartment building. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s like he’s showing off. Deliberately leaving them where they’d be found.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My thoughts exactly,” Martin says. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s running circles around us when it comes to the fan site, and he knows how to conceal his identity.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The cctv photographs,” Martin continues. “He kept his head down all the time.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm nods. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So he’s playing dumb, because he’s smart?” Gil says, looking from Malcolm to Martin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought he was copying you?” JT frowns. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, you would think that,” Martin says, trying to wriggle his arm free, but JT’s grip won’t budge. “What do you think then, my boy?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm kneels next to the body, her pale skin mottled and bruised where she was strangled.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The bodies are staged, so he knows what we’d be looking for, and he gives it to us. He’s trying to get your attention, and he’s written to you before so he’s hoping this might be enough for you to reply next time.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t he good,” Martin beams, smiling at Gil and JT. “There’s something else though isn’t there? Malcolm, don’t be shy, share it with the group.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kid?” Gil strategically positions himself between Martin and Malcolm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm feels everyone’s eyes on him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think he’s a cop, or at least someone who works closely with law enforcement.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How exciting,” Martin says, immediately biting his lip and looking contrite. “I mean awful, of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why the hell would a cop want anything to do with you?” JT frowns at Martin. “There’s no way.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm, because police are never bad people,” Martin replies, sarcastically. “Better think of another suspect, son.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You, be quiet.” Gil points at Martin. “Malcolm, a word.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Holding in a sigh of frustration, Malcolm let’s Gil lead him out of Martin’s earshot, and away from the body.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure about this? One of us?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You gave me the job to be sure about these things. His profile points to him being someone connected to the police, and I know that...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A loud gunshot interrupts Malcolm’s explanation.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Down!” Gil yells, reaching for his gun.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm crouches, moving quickly over to where Martin is standing, and JT still trying to keep hold of him while drawing his weapon.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve got him!” Malcolm shouts, just as another gunshot deafens him. That one was closer. Close enough that Malcolm could hear the splintering of wood as the bullet hit a tree.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabs Martin’s jacket and they run to Gil’s car. Gil tosses him the keys, concern clear on his face, but with no choice but to go after whoever it is firing at them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Opening the back door, Martin scrambles inside, hindered by the cuffs on his wrists. Malcolm gets into the front and fires up the engine, backing up quickly and away from the direction the shots came from.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this what every day is like for you,” Martin says, righting himself on the back seat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm, not every day,” Malcolm replies, taking them past the house and to another, smaller wooded area. The sounds of shouting are quieter, and Malcolm listens for any more shots, but hears none. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are we safe here?” Martin asks, sounding sceptical.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have to call for back up,” Malcolm replies, taking out his phone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The call is short, and when he puts his phone down, Malcolm realises how quiet it is in the car. The only sound is the adrenaline rush in his ears.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m impressed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm sighs, lips quirking into almost a smile. He turns to look at his father.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, really, you were brilliant. So confident at the crime scene, and the way you took charge just now...” Martin does a little shiver. “Why don’t you come and sit with me while we wait?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm feels his heart pump harder, adding to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin’s not exactly being subtle, and they both know that Malcolm is going to do it. What’s going to happen once he does, Malcolm has no clue.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nodding, Malcolm opens the door with trembling fingers, looking around him for signs of danger before getting into the back seat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a shame we’re in the detectives midlife crisis mobile, but beggars can’t be choosers,” Martin chuckles. His hands are in his lap, fingers clenching together. “We have very little time, my boy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm nods again, sliding closer and then twisting his body around, getting one knee up onto the seat and lifting the other over Martin’s thighs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin lifts his arms, letting Malcolm duck his head under the cuffs so that Martin’s hands encircle his waist. Martin pushes his hips up to adjust their positions, in doing so, Malcolm settles his weight, his cock rubbing the bulge of his fathers.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I must be insane,” Malcolm gasps, gripping Martin’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All the best people are,” Martin says, nuzzling against Malcolm’s throat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grinding slowly, Malcolm touches their foreheads together. It’s so wrong. He’s so wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm digs his fingers into Martin, he doesn’t care if it hurts, because he knows Martin won’t care either. They’re so similar in so many ways, but Malcolm always relied on their differences to keep going, even though the cracks in him were always so visible. His life has always been about trying not to let anyone see how deep those cracks go.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His insomnia, the night terrors, the tremble in his hand, they were all there to remind people of how broken he is. They blamed his father, and they weren’t wrong, but if they’d looked just a little closer they’d see that it’s him. Malcolm is wired just the same as Martin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look at me,” Martin says, so loud in the car that Malcolm’s heart jumps.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please don’t make me stop,” Malcolm says, though the evidence of his fathers involvement in what they’re doing is unmistakable. Malcolm ruts against Martin’s erection, shaking from the gratification of knowing it’s because of him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin doesn’t respond to that, but the look in his eyes speaks volumes, and it’s all Malcolm needs to give in. He surges forward, the kiss more brutal and desperate than it would have been in the cell. He claws at Martin’s back, needing him closer, wanting to taste him. The last thread of his old self falls away and Malcolm let’s himself just become. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin’s wrists dig into the small of Malcolm’s back, and his father grunts in frustration. He’s not in control like he’d want to be, and that arouses Malcolm even more. He squeezes his legs against Martin’s thighs, rubbing himself against him, but it’s not enough. Malcolm wants to touch him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pushing his hand between their bodies, Malcolm runs it down over Martin’s stomach, breaking the kiss so that he can see, and hearing the gasp when his palm covers Martin’s erection.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it what you imagined,” Martin pants.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t let myself,” Malcolm replies, not able to look away from where he’s touching his father. “I hated you for making me love you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin makes a sound in understanding.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And for making me like this,” Malcolm continues.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He kisses his father again, the desperation turning to something else, something more raw. Martin sits forward, getting Malcolm so that he’s up against the back of the drivers seat, gaining some control.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hisses in pain when Malcolm’s teeth catch his tongue, but they don’t stop. Malcolm can hear the grind of the cuffs behind him, straining when Martin instinctively tries to move his hands. He wants to touch Malcolm too, frustrated at being denied.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the distance, the sound of voices reaches the car.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry... someone will see us here,” Malcolm says, shifting in Martin’s lap. His heartbeat is so fast it’s painful.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have the keys, don’t you? We could go somewhere?” Martin licks his bottom lip and then clears his throat. “Somewhere close by, preferably, given the certain state we’re both in.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm lifts Martin’s arms and scrambles into the front of the car, leather seats be damned. He starts the engine and backs up, turning the car around with a spray of gravel.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Woah, uhh, yep... eager as I am, I like it. Maybe we need seatbelts on though?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Malcolm tunes out Martin’s voice, slamming his foot down on the pedal. He ignores his dad trying to stay upright, and the tightness in his pants, and just focuses on getting away from there.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The one thing he can’t ignore though, is that voice inside his head. It screams louder now than ever, ringing in his head, pounding behind his eyes. It feels like madness let loose, and despite the terror running through his veins, Malcolm feels himself smile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Malcolm gives Martin a proposition and comes face to face with the killer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This isn’t exactly what I meant when I said we should go somewhere. In fact it’s the total opposite of what I meant.”<br/><br/>Martin lifts the restraint attached to his belt. <br/><br/>“Did you think I was going to drive us off into the sunset?” Malcolm says, glancing at Mr David in the corner, but the guard has his nose in a book.<br/><br/>Gil had called when Malcolm had been driving them back to Claremont. He’d sounded tense, and angry, and even though whatever the hell had gone on at the crime scene wasn’t Martin’s fault, Gil clearly blamed him.<br/><br/>Unless...<br/><br/>“Did you have something to do with that? With whoever was firing at us?”<br/><br/>Martin gasps, putting his hand over his mouth in mock horror.<br/><br/>“I’m hurt. No, of course I didn’t.” Martin’s face is incredulous, like the very idea is far fetched. “It’s a bit of an extreme thing to do to get you alone, Malcolm. Just saying.”<br/><br/>Heat colours Malcolm’s cheeks and he glances at Mr David again.<br/><br/>“Oh, he doesn’t care,” Martin says, waving a hand on his guards general direction. “He’s paid more than enough to turn a blind eye.”<br/><br/>“I know he is,” Malcolm replies. He knows that what goes on in that cell won’t go any further anymore, but it still makes him uncomfortable having someone observing them. Especially when the subject matter is so... incestuous.<br/><br/>“A few moments alone with my son?”<br/><br/>Mr David closes his book slowly and lifts an eyebrow, but he gets up and leaves the cell without a word.<br/><br/>“Your emotions are all over the place, I understand, but...”<br/><br/>“This isn’t over,” Malcolm interrupts. He stays behind the line, but somehow it just charges the atmosphere. He’s itching to cross that line, desperate for it, but denying himself just amps up the pleasure.<br/><br/>“Elaborate,” Martin says, his lip curving ever so slightly. <br/><br/>“What we did in the car... I want more.” Malcolm scoffs at his own boldness, but he’s going with it. Why stop now when he’s already in way past the deep end.<br/><br/>“More, as in?” Martin steps forward slowly, approaching Malcolm like a hunter stalking prey.<br/><br/>Only now, Malcolm doesn’t feel like prey. He feels like another predator.<br/><br/>Once Martin is close enough, Malcolm leans towards him, just enough that he can talk into his ear, still staying behind the line.<br/><br/>“I want you to fuck me.”<br/><br/>Malcolm moves back, motioning to Mr David that he’s done.<br/><br/>“But right now I have a job to do.”<br/><br/>Without even looking back at his father, Malcolm leaves. He walks confidently out of the hospital, twirling the keys to Gil’s car on his finger. <br/><br/>Well, Malcolm thinks, if he’s cut from the same crazy cloth as The Surgeon, he might as well enjoy himself. Right?<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>“Malcolm, you’re here,” Gil says, patting him on the back when he enters his office.<br/><br/>“Everyone ok? What happened?” Malcolm sits down, putting the car keys on Gil’s desk. “I didn’t wreck it, don’t worry.”<br/><br/>“He got away. Whoever he was,” Dani says, walking into the office. “JT and Edrissa are on their way back now.”<br/><br/>“We need to find out more on Peter Webber. If he’s The Student then maybe he orchestrated the shooting,” Gil says.<br/><br/>“Webber? Gil, he doesn’t fit for The Student. Sure he’s pretty unhinged, but his alibi checked out for the first victim, and like I said he isn’t...”<br/><br/>“He’s obsessed with Dr Whitly and he was very vocal on the website. We can’t rule him out as being the creator of the site and The Student. Until we have anyone else solid, Webber is our main suspect.”<br/><br/>Malcolm opens his mouth to protest, but Gil gets there first.<br/><br/>“Follow up with the IT guys and if you see the Commissioner looking for me point him in the opposite direction. Let’s get this killer before we’re forced to take your dad out to a crime scene again.”<br/><br/>Dani looks anywhere but at Malcolm, obviously uncomfortable. Malcolm doesn’t quite know if it’s because of the mention of Martin, or the dismissal of Malcolm’s profile.<br/><br/>“Sure, I’ll go follow up on that,” Malcolm says. <br/><br/>Frustrated, Malcolm goes to his desk. Not for the first time, Malcolm wonders why they bothered having him as a profiler in the first place when he has to fight so hard for anyone to listen.<br/><br/>There’s a file waiting for him on top of his paperwork, almost an inch thick. Malcolm opens it, not expecting to see his fathers face when he does.<br/><br/>Frowning, Malcolm looks through the pages. There are schedules and shift changes of the staff at Claremont, details of when Martin is taken out of his cell for showers, when he’s given food, everything that happens to him on a day to day basis. <br/><br/>Scanning through it, Malcolm eventually gets to information about the website, and it’s nothing more than they have already. The creator of it has covered their tracks so well that the IP address has been bounced from one location to the other.<br/><br/>“Got something?” Dani sits on the edge of the desk.<br/><br/>“I don’t know,” Malcolm says distractedly. He goes through the file again, right from the top.<br/><br/>“What’s with all the stuff about Dr Whitly?” Dani takes a page from the file and reads. “Do you think he’s involved.”<br/><br/>“He’s not,” Malcolm answers.<br/><br/>“Because he told you?” <br/><br/>Malcolm keeps reading through the files. Something isn’t sitting right with it, but he can’t put his finger on what.<br/><br/>“Because I know he isn’t,” Malcolm continues, closing the file and standing. “I’m going to go and talk to, um, officer Cole. Won’t be long.”<br/><br/>“Just... be careful, alright?” <br/><br/>“I always am,” Malcolm says, picking up the file and leaving Dani sitting on his desk.<br/><br/>Stupid thing to say really, because careful is one of the last things that Malcolm is. <br/><br/>Like right now, the feeling in his gut is that his profile is solid, and the person they’re looking for is closer than any of them want to believe. The file in his hand is heavy, it’s contents a red flag, but it’s not proof. Malcolm needs to see this man face to face.<br/><br/>The cybercrime department is an entire floor in the building, and no one so much as looks up from their screens when Malcolm walks in. <br/><br/>“Hi, excuse me,” Malcolm says cheerily, approaching the man sitting at the nearest desk. “I’m looking for officer Cole.”<br/><br/>“Cole? Uh, I think he went out... oh, wait, nope he’s over there. Second on the left right at the back.”<br/><br/>“Thanks,” Malcolm says, looking towards the desk and to Cole. <br/><br/>He’s tall, bordering on gangly, with jet black hair and blue eyes. He’s reading something, a smile almost settling on his lips, but not quite. It’s unsettling.<br/><br/>Malcolm picks up his pace.<br/><br/>“Officer Cole? Hi, I’m Malcolm Bright, the profiler working with detective Arroyo.” Malcolm phrases it as a question, though he knows Cole must have heard of him, but they’ve never met in person.<br/><br/>“The famous Malcolm Bright. Alex Cole. Yeah, I came up to drop the file you wanted, but you were out. Sorry, there wasn’t much we could get about the guy you’re after. He’s a slippery one.” Alex leans back in his chair. “Was there something else I can do?”<br/><br/>“No, you were very thorough. There was a lot of information on The Surgeon that I wasn’t expecting.”<br/><br/>“Why? They’re connected,” Alex says, frowning. “I highlighted possible correlations between shift changes and posts on the website about Dr Whitly. None of them say specifically that they went to Claremont, but they’d be on cctv.”<br/><br/>“You’re right. That was a good catch,” Malcolm says, opening the file again. Alex is saying everything right, and for a second Malcolm considers that his suspicions are wrong. Like he keeps reminding himself, he has no proof that Alex is a suspect, only the profile he built on no little evidence. The killer left no DNA, no signature, and if it wasn’t for the obsession with Martin online they’d have nothing at all. <br/><br/>But, Malcolm doesn’t just think on terms of evidence. There’s always a psychological pattern with a killers movements and choices, and being a profiler means he can follow his instincts easier than his team. Even though most of the time it ends up with him in trouble.<br/><br/>“I listed any usernames that mentioned Dr Whitly and Claremont,” Alex continues. “There were a lot.”<br/><br/>“Yeah, I can see that,” Malcolm says, blowing out a breath. He smiles at Alex, sympathising. “Are you still trying to trace the original IP address?”<br/><br/>“Yeah,” Alex says, turning his computer screen around so that Malcolm can see. “We’re constantly monitoring the website. No new members but some of the ones already on there have been posting again. Gossip mostly.”<br/><br/>“About the murders?”<br/><br/>Alex nods, clicking on the forum page and pointing at the screen. <br/><br/>Malcolm scans the conversation, but it’s as Alex said, gossip about the murders and some reaching out to the killer to make themselves known to them, even anonymously. <br/><br/>“So The Student hasn’t replied at all? Not even about the theft at Claremont?”<br/><br/>Malcolm watches Alex for a reaction, but his face is blank. <br/><br/>“What theft would that be?”<br/><br/>“Have you ever been to Claremont, Alex?” <br/><br/>Alex’s lip twitches, almost like he’s containing a smirk. <br/><br/>“You’re leading me, Mr Bright. Now why would you be doing that?”<br/><br/>Malcolm shrugs, picturing Alex wearing a dark jacket and a baseball cap like the man caught on cctv at Claremont. <br/><br/>“Maybe I could lead you back to detective Arroyo? He’s got some photographs I’m sure you’d like to look at.”<br/><br/>Alex does smirk then, like the whole situation is ridiculous, but he stands from his desk and walks around to the other side.<br/><br/>“Let’s go then,” he says, lifting his hand to indicate for Malcolm to go ahead of him.<br/><br/>“After you,” Malcolm says with a smile.<br/><br/>Alex goes, and they walk towards the elevator. They step in with two other officers, and Malcolm presses the button to close the doors.<br/><br/>“I really don’t know what else I can tell you other than what I’ve put in the files,” Alex says, leaning against the back wall. He doesn’t acknowledge anyone other than Malcolm, talking like they aren’t even there.<br/><br/>Malcolm turns around to face him. He can’t risk antagonising Alex when there are people around, so he doesn’t say anything. On the next floor, the two people step out and when the elevator doors close, they’re alone. Malcolm is pretty sure he’s going to get yelled at about this in the very near future.<br/><br/>“I knew you’d find me,” Alex says, taking out his phone and tapping the screen a few times. The elevator stops moving with a shaking clank.<br/><br/>“You didn’t make it easy,” Malcolm admits. “I didn’t know for sure until I saw you, but that was you at Claremont, wasn’t it?”<br/><br/>“Quite a place,” Alex replies.<br/><br/>“You stole his clothes. Bit of a risk.”<br/><br/>“You’d be surprised how easy it was.”<br/><br/>Malcolm glances at the elevator buttons.<br/><br/>“I can shut this whole building down easier than breathing,” Alex says. “Just as easy as I could kill you.”<br/><br/>Malcolm swallows, his back pressed against the doors. <br/><br/>“You’re not going to do that,” Malcolm says. “You’re obsessed with my father, so you know how important I am to him.”<br/><br/>Alex laughs through his nose, his eyebrow lifting. <br/><br/>“What a waste of a son you are. But you’re right, and that’s why I’m not going to kill you. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to hurt you though.”<br/><br/>Alex taps his phone again and the light in the elevator goes off suddenly. Malcolm feels the air move and something slam into his chest, knocking all the wind out of him. He can’t fall forward, because Alex’s elbow is digging into his throat, making it even harder to breathe.<br/><br/>“He’s going to see me, Malcolm Bright.” Alex accentuates Malcolm’s surname, like it’s something bitter in his mouth. “When I’m with him, he’ll forget all about you.”<br/><br/>Malcolm tries to gasp for oxygen, but Alex just pushes harder. When his vision starts to blur, Alex grabs him, slamming him against the hand rail on the far wall. Raising his arms, Malcolm tries to keep Alex from strangling him again, but a punch to the ribs gives Alex the time to jam his forearm under Malcolm’s chin.<br/><br/>“You enjoy getting hurt, don’t you? You put yourself in danger on purpose.”<br/><br/>Malcolm struggles to breathe as Alex almost lifts him off the floor.<br/><br/>His mind going blank to anything other than pain, Malcolm can only blink against the tears running down his face. <br/><br/>“So insignificant,” Alex says, wrenching Malcolm off the wall and throwing him hard into the corner of the elevator.<br/><br/>Crumpling to the ground, Malcolm gasps and coughs, a trickle of blood falling into his eye. He knows Alex is still talking, but Malcolm can barely hear over the sound of rushing in his ears. <br/><br/>A bright light makes Malcolm squint, and the elevator lurches, shuddering back to life. Squatting down next to him, Alex grabs Malcolm by the hair and pulls his head back hard.<br/><br/>“When I’m done, he won’t care enough about you to remember your name.”<br/><br/>Malcolm watches Alex raise his fist... and then nothing.<br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Andy this was meant to be a oneshot! How did this happen?!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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